I’m island. 

I am sitting here, a bar. A crowded bar and drinking the strongest thing allowed by my Mormon faith: Coca-Cola. In front of me there’s a newspaper, my right side is cold and not too invested -what a way to say “my boyfriend sits on my right”- he watches a soccer game, a classic one. Me? Not much of a classic here, just her girlfriend. 

Hands inside his pockets. Mind miles away. But I’m here to breath silently, to read, to smile if he dignifies himself a looks my way. 

Where’s my Temple?